


Here to Stay

by wynnebat



Series: Wolves at the Door [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Identity, M/M, Mostly Gen, Stiles-centric, Time Travel, younger!Stiles/Derek & older time-traveling!Stiles/Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is seven when his twenty-one year old self time-travels into the past. In theory, it's fantastic. In reality, Stiles wants a return policy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> For the "in another man's shoes" square of my Trope Bingo card. I couldn't resist.

Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't allowed to hate a future version of himself, even if the older Stiles _sucked_. It wasn't like he hated himself, after all, and his older self was him plus approximately a billion years. And for the record, when his older self first came to their home and introduced himself with his real name, not the one he lied about at the playground, Stiles thought he was great.

Stiles liked that now he knew for sure he was going to grow up to be tall and that he was going to wear plaid and Batman shirts. The older Stiles was friendly and knew all of Stiles' favorite things, and he told him about the future (Stiles instantly wanted an iPhone) and werewolves (for that one, Stiles barely had any words). It was like having a double and an older brother at the same time.

After his older self left, Stiles called Scott to tell him the weird news.

Scott told him he already knew, because Scott was from the future, too.

.

"I didn't think of that," his older self told him, later. "I'm sorry. It wasn't—"

"It's fine."

 _Liar,_ his older self's face said, but he only replied with, "I can give you my memories, if you want them."

"I don't want them," Stiles said. Because he didn't. He wanted his best friend back and his place in the world back. Getting some stupid new memories wasn't going to make it all better.

He didn't want to disappear like his best friend, either.

.

Scott missed two weekly sleepovers until he remembered he and Stiles used to have plans.

In the meantime, Stiles sometimes snuck out and walked the block between their houses, sneaking into Scott's house when he knew Scott wasn't going to be there. Scott's room was still the same. Their favorite video games were still shuffled in the corner; Scott's pajamas still had Batman symbols and the small stain Stiles accidentally made last year. There was a pizza crust gathering mold in the very back of Scott's closet, though their measurements of its growth got disrupted when Scott woke up a decade and a half older.

Stiles really, really tried not to be bitter. His mom would've tried to get him to look at the bright side, but of all the lessons she tried to teach him, what to do when your best friend's been replaced by his stupid older self wasn't one of them.

Scott was still his friend. When he remembered, Scott even tried to play with him once, like they used to, but he did it all wrong and the only thing that prevented Stiles from crying was the fact that he didn't want Scott to see him like that. He wasn't Stiles' Scott anymore, even if he didn't look any different. It just wasn't the same.

Scott was twenty-one and a werewolf and a true alpha, whatever that was. Stiles was still Stiles.

Sometimes, Stiles left Scott's room and went downstairs, where Ms. McCall would give him cookies and ask about his day. Usually, she'd call his dad to pick him up, but one time, Stiles convinced her that playing video games with him would be a great life choice.

Stiles tried not to do it too much, because his dad looked sad when he picked him up.

But Ms. McCall looked sadder, and Stiles really missed his friend, so Stiles kept coming back.

.

Stiles' older self told them he didn't expect anything from them, but he'd had to have known that wouldn't fly in the Stilinski house. He was Stiles' dad's son, which meant Stiles was sort of not an only child anymore. Their guest room was occasionally occupied, and on game nights the couch had three people, and Stiles' dad even took him around the police station, introducing him as a possible future deputy.

His dad asked him everything about his life. Most of the time, Stiles' older self answered.

And it was alright... Except, now Stiles' dad knew things about Stiles. Things that were just barely happening, or hadn't happened yet, or things Stiles would've been cool with keeping to himself. He barely even knew he liked other boys and yet now he knew he liked them enough to date one in the future.

And it wasn't fair that Stiles kept talking about things that were going happen to him, like they were set in stone.

It made him feel strange in his skin, like he was just going through the motions of someone else, someone he wasn't sure he wanted to be. His older self was too old, too intent, and whatever anyone said, his boyfriend was sort of scary. That wasn't the life Stiles wanted to have.

.

Once, Ms. McCall wasn't alone.

Stiles hesitated at the top of the stairs, but the sounds coming from the dining room downstairs weren't weird. They were just normal voices. He hadn't heard these ones before, though, so he stepped onto the very insides of the stairs, expertly avoiding the creaky ones. Once he got closer, they became clearer (and much more interesting), and he crouched down and got ready for a long stay.

"The other parents don't even know," said an unknown woman's voice. "I considered holding a meeting, but..."

"If they haven't noticed their kids are suddenly using adult syntax and language, I doubt they need to know," a man said.

There was a sigh, and Stiles knew that one. He'd had it aimed at him often enough. But it wasn't an annoyed one this time, and Ms. McCall's voice was a bad kind of sad as she said, "It still seems cruel, to just not tell them. If Scott had pretended to still be seven and I'd found out... I don't know what I'd do. I missed his entire childhood."

"Melissa—"

"I know. He says I was a great mother."

"It's not much of a consolation," agreed the man. "My baby girl is married, making plans for a life of her own and fitting me in as an afterpiece."

"She's hardly had a full conversation with me," the woman admitted, sighing. "I've been dead for years to her. But... This isn't a conversation I'd like to have in front of eavesdroppers."

Stiles glared at the wall, wondering what gave him away, until Ms. McCall's voice called, "Stiles, come on down."

A couple steps later, Stiles was downstairs and in the dining room, seeing Ms. McCall's guests for the very first time.

"Meet Mr. and Mrs. Argent," Ms. McCall said.

"Hullo," Stiles replied, not feeling even a bit guilty about listening. "You're Allison's parents." And Allison was like Scott, which meant it sort of made sense that they were visiting.

"And you're Stiles," Mrs. Argent said.

"The younger one," Stiles replied, because she sounded like a snowman.

This time, he went willingly when Ms. McCall sent him home.

.

It was almost like having another dad, except Stiles didn't want another dad. He didn't want another brother, either, or cousin, or whatever his older self was passing himself off as. It wasn't even a bit fair, and it was even worse that the older Stiles understood.

It was awful, the way the older Stiles crouched down to his height and said, "I'm so sorry for stealing your best friend," and meant it. "And your name. I could go by Sam, instead." Lightly, his older self said, "I mean, why have a middle name if I never actually use it?"

"Because you like Stiles," Stiles replied, and it was a bit huffy and stilted and stupid, because he knew this man. Maybe not as well as the older Stiles knew him, but enough to know that this nickname meant something big to the both of them. It was their mom's silly nickname, one she gave him only weeks before her death.

This close, Stiles could see his older self's face reflected across from him, their moles and freckles in the same places. This man was him, as weird and terrible as it was.

"You can keep it," Stiles said, eventually.

His older self grinned at that, wide and happy. "Yeah? You're not worried about people being confused?"

"They can deal with it."

And somehow, Stiles was going to deal with it, too.

.

In the months after his older self apparently saved a bunch of people's lives, Stiles gained a second family. The Hales began inviting them to weekly dinners, and holidays, and picnics, and one very memorable full moon. His dad told him they could stop going at any time—just say the word—but Stiles' throat clammed down when he realized how much his dad liked the Hales, which made Stiles want to try.

They came slowly, as if making sure Stiles and his dad wouldn't run off. First it was Talia and Anton Hale, with a pie and a casserole and a cheeky, "We'd love to meet our future in-laws." When John and Stiles came over in return, they met Matt Hale. Stiles already knew Cora and Cleo Hale from school, though all he really knew was that they were in another class and that one of them did sports.

Peter Hale, too, had already been introduced by Stiles' older self. (Stiles had a lot of thoughts about that, mostly summed up by: _why?_ His older self told him he'll understand when he's older, but that just made Stiles feel vaguely paranoid.) Laura Hale came to the next dinner, visiting from college and glaring impressively at her parents for not telling her for an entire month that there was a time-traveler living with them. (Stiles liked her.)

Derek was last Hale Stiles met, and that was mostly by accident.

It was after a dinner, and while his dad, Mrs. Hale, and Mr. Hale were having a boring argument about obscure mythology and his older self and Peter had long ditched the gathering, Stiles crept outside. He avoided the younger kids (the twins were only a month younger than him, but it still counted) in favor of going into the woods, to the fallen tree he'd found last week. Its trunk was wider than he was, and when Stiles lay down on it, he could see right up at the blue sky.

This time, when he arrived, there was an older boy already there in his spot.

Stiles sighed. It figured, really.

But he wasn't planning to give up his new spot, so he stepped onto a part of the fallen tree that was a little lower, sitting down very determinedly.

Eventually, the older boy actually looked over at him. "I was here first."

"I was here last week."

The older boy rolled his eyes. "I've been coming here for years. You really can't beat that."

"I know, but I guess it's not your fault you're so old."

The older boy's responding huff was almost like a laugh, Stiles decided.

"You're rude, too. I've been coming over for weeks and you're always gone," Stiles said, because there wasn't anyone this older boy could be except the ever-missing Derek Hale.

"Sorry," Derek said, though he didn't sound like he meant it one bit. "I've just been... busy."

"I know," Stiles replied.

Derek looked sad, like Ms. McCall and Mr. Argent and Ms. Argent sometimes did. Like Stiles sometimes did. And that wasn't a reason to start a friendship, but their shared annoyance with Stiles' older self was enough, as was Derek's promise to teach him to play basketball. And when he found out Derek was a total comic book nerd, Stiles clung like a barnacle. (Only as much as Derek wanted him to, though, which just made it better.)

.

The older Stiles had an open door into Stiles' head. That was what Stiles hated the most.

And there wasn't much he could do about it now, because the older Stiles had been him already. With time, Stiles would grow into another person, a person that was a mix of his older self and something else. But that wasn't enough for Stiles. He was already changing things by becoming friends with Derek, something his older self had reacted to with some surprise, but there was something else he could do.

On one Saturday morning, Stiles knocked on the Argents' door.

Mr. Argent was the one to open the door. "Stiles. This is a surprise."

It was, since it had taken Stiles a full week to track down where the Argents actually lived. But he'd had a reason, and he'd done too much work to not say, "I want to learn to be a hunter. Uh, please."

Looking faintly surprised, Mr. Argent said, "I'm not sure that's wise."

"It really is," Stiles told him, determined. He counted the points on his fingers. "I already know about the supernatural, so there won't be any shock. I like werewolves and also don't like some of them, so I'm not trigger-happy or too nice. I'm young and limber and stuff. I like guns and research. And... you have a place available." _Allison's place,_ he found it hard to say.

For a long moment, Mr. Argent just stood quietly, and Stiles kept himself from fidgeting through sheer force of will.

"It won't be easy," Mr. Argent finally said, but even as he talked he was moving aside to let Stiles in.

And it wasn't. It took Stiles a little over an hour to get out of the ropes.

"You'll learn," Mr. Argent said, and showed him strategies for it, one after another. Afterwards, Mrs. Argent told him that if he stuck it out a week, she could possibly consider teaching him how to shoot.

"I know how to shoot," Stiles replied suspiciously. "Dad's a cop. He showed me."

"I can show you better," Mrs. Argent said, her eyes bright.

After that, Stiles' weekends became full, no matter how many times his older self told him this wasn't the best idea. This was different. Maybe, this wasn't the right path for him. But it also wasn't the older Stiles' path, and Stiles had a feeling that he could love Mr. Argent's weapons and Mrs. Argent's code of helping people just as much as his older self loved his magic.

If not, well, there were a thousand and one ways his life could go. Stiles would find a way.

.

Almost twenty years later, Stiles was twenty-five and newly in a relationship that some might've said was a long time coming. Still, he came alone to Christmas dinner. Derek was already invited, after all. But Stiles did kiss him, softly, happily, in front of the rest of his crazy family (Hales, Argents, McCalls, and Stilinskis combined) because there was nothing else he'd rather do.

Across the room, his older self was standing beside Peter, the wedding ring on his finger occasionally catching the light as he motioned to explain something to Allison. But he wasn't too busy to raise a glass to Stiles, who grinned in return.

There were different people by their sides, different families at their backs. They made their own decisions, their own mistakes.

Stiles hadn't become an emissary. Couldn't have, not really, because he didn't have the power for it. He hadn't led the exact (terrible, awful) life that had caused his older self's powers to explode.  Sometimes, Stiles wondered what it could've been like, to be able to manipulate more than a little mountain ash, to be able to say, "I'll burn you," and mean it literally. But it helped that he could bench press his older self into embarrassment. And when he was in an especially wistful mood, Stiles picked up another style of martial arts.

His older self traveled in emissary circles and had been roped into a seat on the world emissary council, while Stiles wouldn't have been amiss at any hunter's conference in the nation.

But even if they took different paths, Stiles wouldn't trade his own for the world. He had a feeling his older self felt the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
